Precise Moments
by Belestrange
Summary: Kind of drabble. Hermione is reflecting on her relationship with Ron and how everything happened.


A/N: Yet another random one-shot, because school is finally out! Yay! It's bittersweet, but I like it. Maybe it reflects my feelings about leaving middle school. Bat whatever. I don't know. Just read and enjoy! (and review! o0) Also – to those of you waiting for an update on _A Summer Story_ – The first chapter is finished and being beta'd, so it should be up soon.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. But if I did, I would totally use a wand to explode stuff. Like people I don't like, including my science teacher and Cole. HAHA I KICKED YOU! –ahem-

**Precise moments**

She remembers the first time she realized that she loved him. It was in their fourth year, she was fifteen, and feeling beautiful for the first time in a long while. And he had yelled at her, for dancing with someone who she didn't really want to dance with, because he was 'the enemy.' She had seen through this immediately, and called his bluff, but later she had wondered whether she had been correct. In the heat of the moment though, the middle of their biggest argument yet, the only thing she could think about was how handsome he looked, despite his ugly dress robes, despite his gangly form and red face, there was something about him she always found charming. Maybe it was the way his blue eyes sparkled or the way his vibrantly red hair fell in his face. Whatever it was, it was astonishingly powerful, made her clench her hands; dig her nails into her skin whenever their gazes locked. It was as she stormed away, up to her dorm to have a good cry on her bed, that she realized that she loved him.

_At precisely the same moment he realized the same thing. _

Then there was the next year. Full of awkward and sweet moments. She wasn't sure of the exact moment when they began to dance around each other in that strange way, but she thought it was probably the moment she stepped into the old house that was to be their home for the next three months. Or, more precisely, the moment she stepped into his arms to embrace him, shortly after she arrived. He'd hugged her back, tightly and roughly, as was his way, and they'd stayed locked together for just a second too long. It was probably right then. Not that it was all awkward. There was, for instance, the time he gave her perfume for Christmas. The perfume smelled of roses, red roses to be exact, which, she knew from having read too much, symbolized true love. This made it particularly special to her. She wore it every day, just a dash on her right wrist. She didn't want to run out.

_Every now and then he smelled it. She would be leaning over to correct his homework, or reaching across him at dinner, and that familiar scent of roses would waft toward him. He cherished those moments. He was almost certain she loved him, but not certain enough. _

And then he began to lose interest…or did he? It certainly seemed so. When she was seventeen, he began to go out with another girl, a prettier, blonder girl. But a stupid girl.

_He didn't think the other girl was prettier. He thought** she** was prettier. He just couldn't bring himself to tell her. But then he broke up with the other girl._

The dance began again. But this time it was different. This time it was less awkward, more flirtatious, laced with lust, maybe. He didn't know _what_ element was causing the feelings that went on inside him every time he was with her, touched her, said her name, thought of her. They weren't as innocent as the ones that had raced through him when he was fourteen - _that_ was for sure.

Now she sits on the couch next to him and brushes the hair out of his sleeping face. He stirs a bit, grunts, then begins to snore again. She giggles softly. He always denies the fact that he snores when Harry teases him about it, but it's true. A sudden urge to kiss his sleeping lips sparks inside her. She restrains herself. What if he wakes up? But then he begins to stir again. He whispers her name. She looks down. He is barely awake.

"Kiss me." He says simply. She wonders if he is still dreaming, but nevertheless, she bends down and kisses him. He kisses her back, gently, then sits up and kisses her again. They break apart. Kiss again. Break apart. Kiss again. No words are needed. All they need is this, for now.

Review!


End file.
